


Ultimate

by The_Idonian



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mercenaries should not be primary child care givers, Some accents, The Administrator is a nasty lemon, frisbee, ultimate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 22:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4582785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Idonian/pseuds/The_Idonian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When confronted by a stranger in need, Spy learns that even the simplest of promises can become a vicious game against the Administrator. The stakes are high, the consequences of failure higher, and it will take all of Spy's skills to fulfill a task that he has become honor bound to complete.</p><p>In other words, this is the story of how Spy briefly coached an Ultimate Frisbee team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Highway Robbery

**Author's Note:**

> You love him, you hate him, he's the slimiest snake to ever put a knife in your back, and he's such a mysterious character that many can't help but wonder what secrets and depths lie beneath the mask. He's such a fun character to write about!
> 
> Believe it or not, the inspiration for this story came from a dream. The drive to create it came from my lovely friend and wonderful beta, put your hands together for, penguinlove2506! Without her enthusiasm, love of writing, and confidence in my somewhat scatterbrained writing skills, this story would not be.  
> You can see her works at: http://penguinlove2506.deviantart.com/
> 
> CYA: Valve stuff belongs to Valve. All original characters belong to me. This story is quite obviously fiction. Any resemblance of characters, places, organizations, and things to any aspect real life is coincidental. For the tropers: no anvils were intentionally dropped, and I attempted to avoid Mary Sues.
> 
> Happy reading, all.

Spy tapped his fingers on the counter impatiently as he waited for the clerk to finish locking up the cigarette cabinet. Six dollars a pack! But he was out and the supply train wouldn’t be coming for another week, so he had to come into town. It was highway robbery, and he had no other option.

A boy ran past him, no older than ten, and he heard the mother scold him as he careened into Spy’s legs, yelped at Spy’s growl, and ran down another aisle, his mother yelling at him to go play outside with his frisbee as she rounded the corner by the register. The bell jingled merrily as the door opened, and the woman stiffened as a man entered, looking furious and clutching something in his hand.

The woman wrung her hands nervously, eyeing him. “Mr. Jackson, a small world, isn’t it?” flinching as he looked at her.

“Shut up! Don’t give me any of that! You see what this is?” he roared, thrusting what looked like a pregnancy test into the cowering woman’s face, causing her to back up.  “You see this? Huh?”

Spy cut in, “Monsieur, may I ask you to calm down and step away?”

Jackson glared at him, walking forward until he was towering over the Spy. “Shut up, you!” he barked, then turned to the woman again. “Positive! You dirty little liar! You said it wouldn’t be a problem!”

The terrified woman shrank away from him, and tears began streaming down her face.  “I’m sorry! You wouldn’t listen, and I can’t afford - ”

The man hissed through his the teeth, and interrupted her. “Excuses, excuses Elizabeth! If it weren’t for me you would be nothing. And this is how you repay me? Do you know what this is going to do to me? Especially when my wife finds out?”

Spy slipped in between them, “I am afraid zhis conversation is getting out of hand. Last time I ask you to - ”

The man pulled out a gun, and aimed it in Spy’s face, growling, “I said shut up, frenchy.”

“No!” Elizabeth screamed as she lunged at Jackson from the side, forcing his arm down and right as he pulled the trigger. The gun fired into her abdomen as Jackson threw her to the ground.

Spy moved quickly, grabbing the staggering man in a one armed lock and pressing the blade his balisong to the carotid artery while blocking his line of sight to Elizabeth. “Be still, _saleté._ ”

Jackson tried to shove Spy aside and grab for his dropped gun. Spy kicked it away and shoved the blade in and out under his jaw, all in one fluid motion. He dumped the man to the floor as Jackson bled out quickly, dying in seconds. People were screaming, but all of that didn’t matter when a little whirlwind sprinted past him to the woman on the ground, shrieking “Mom? Mom!”

Spy knelt down next to the woman in the spreading pool of blood, regretting the blood on his suit, but he had to move quickly. He ripped up part of Jackson’s shirt, pressing it to the wound with one hand and shaking the kid with the other. “Kid? Kid! Listen to me!”

The boy stopped panicking and looked at him with tears flowing down his face, “Mom’s hurt!”

The frenchman removed his hand and used it to support Elizabeth, “You want to save her?” he asked as he quickly motioned to the register. “Call zhe police! Move!” The boy frantically scurried  off to find a phone. Elizabeth looked up at the Spy, her eyes drowsy and half open.

“Take care of him,” she whispered.

Spy blanched. “Mademoiselle? Stay awake! Help is coming! S'il vous plaît!” His voice cracked slightly.

He cradled her in his arms, staunching the bleeding. He held her as the boy talked to the operator on the phone. He held her as the sirens wailed. But as the paramedics rushed to save her life, he had to let her go.

 

\-----------------------------

  


_-Two Days Later-_

  


The messenger was waiting in his room, as he knew it would be. Nevertheless, he shut the door and lit a cigarette before regarding the man coolly.

“So, to what do I owe zhis pleasure?” he said, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

The man in the hat said nothing, shrugging open his coat to reveal the television strapped to his chest. The television flickered into life, and the Administrator glared at him over steepled fingers, her cigarette burning but never seeming to produce ash.

“You astound me, Spy,” she said dryly. “You are able to infiltrate closed organizations and extract classified information, yet you are unable to read a newspaper?”

On cue, the messenger produced a paper from his pocket, tossing it to Spy. The headline read: _Mysterious Good Samaritan Saves Woman_. The accompanying picture showed the small store, covered in police tape. Further down the page, another article was headed by the words: _School In Shock In Wake of Coach’s Attack_ , with a picture of Jackson.

Spy studied the paper for a few seconds before calmly asking, “And zhe woman? She is still alive, no? I understand zhe need to maintain a low profile, madame, but it would seem that events conspired against me.”

The Administrator narrowed her eyes. “Indeed. Not only have you failed to maintain a low profile, even if you evaded the media, you are also threatening the terms of your contract. Saving a woman is one thing; what you are doing now is quite another. In the span of two days you have managed to waltz your way into the school, present a flawless and convincing resume, charm all of the administrators, and become a substitute coach on the school staff. Not only that, but you have also become this boy’s ‘chaperone’. What were you thinking?” Her voice rose slightly in anger, and her mouth pulled into a scowl.

Spy smiled faintly; that resume had taken several hours to forge. “Let me assure you madame, I have used zhe utmost discretion and will continue to do so. I will make sure that zhis does not interfere with our contract or my duties and obligations to zhe company. This is merely a favor done to zhe woman, as she asked me to watch after her son.”

“And you mean to do that by pretending to be a coach for the boy?” she scoffed. “Playing this,” she stopped and looked off screen, “what was it called?” Miss Pauling murmured something in reply, and she returned her gaze to Spy. “Ah, yes, Ultimate. Do you even know how to play this so-called sport?” she asked.

“Of course, Madame Administrator.” Spy said smoothly, while his mind said, _I’ll learn fast_. “And I will ensure that zhe practice times are during ceasefire. On my honor I promise that zhis will not affect my performance on zhe battlefield, and that it will only be for zhe rest of zhe time we are stationed here.”

The Administrator’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “Honor? From a Spy? Hmph. However,” and Spy froze in anticipation of judgement, “I will permit this little dalliance if only as a source of entertainment. Rest assured that the very second you breach your contract you will be dealt with. _Permanently._ ”

Spy bowed gracefully. “Magnanimous as ever, Madame Administrator,” he said as he opened the door and the messenger turned to leave. Spy watched him turn the corner of the hallway before closing the door and leaning against it, sighing in relief and closing his eyes.

He opened them and looked at the newspaper, sighting on a random line as he willed his heartbeat to slow.

 

_Investigations have concluded that Greg Jackson confronted Miss Elizabeth Locklin upon discovering that she was pregnant with his child and would not to abort the baby. His wife was unavailable for an interview, but told reporters that she suspected that her former husband was engaging in an affair. She further commented that he was often impulsive and refused to take no as an answer._

 

Spy narrowed his eyes, scanning the rest of the article.

 

_Jackson filled the position of assistant coach at the local middle school, providing leadership for the school’s football, basketball, and ultimate frisbee teams. Replacements have been found for the basketball and football teams, but it is unknown whether the ultimate team will be able to survive the loss of their sole coach. Applicants for the position may talk to Secretary Marcy Garthen to apply for the position of substitute coach until the end of the year. In a statement released by the school, “We are all shocked and saddened by this turn of events.”_

 

Spy snorted, smiling. There had only been one other applicant, and it was all too easy to ensure that he was unfit for the position. He looked at the main article.

 

_Witnesses say that the man in the mask was held at gunpoint for attempting to calm the situation between Miss Locklin and Jackson, and that Miss Locklin attempted to intervene, throwing herself on Jackson to prevent him from killing the man. Jackson shot Miss Locklin and turned to fight the masked man, and in the struggle Jackson received a fatal neck wound. Miss Locklin has been transferred to Pin Hospital, and she is expected to recover from her extensive injuries. An anonymous donation has been made to the hospital in her name, and in a statement doctors told reporters that someone with the injuries she sustained would be unable to have children, but that she is otherwise expected to regain her health._

 

Well. He should have expected that. She would have fewer reminders of the painful attack, but he knew all too well that a bullet wound would stay with you forever.

 

_Soon after the attack, the masked man disappeared into the crowd, and little to nothing is known about this mysterious benefactor. Anyone with information on the man is encouraged to contact the Journal._

 

Spy placed the newspaper on the table, shaking his head. He knew that if this much was printed in the paper, that it was only because Miss Pauling had allowed it to be. She was very straightforward in clearing up witnesses that had seen too much. He heard a voice bellow in the distance, calling everyone to dinner. It was Engineer’s turn, and as long as he was kept away from the spice cabinet his food was mostly edible. Spy straightened his tie and walked out towards the kitchen.

 

“Yo, frog legs!” Scout called out as he entered, joining the rest of the team. Spy breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of brisket, beans, and corn bread. It was an uncultured meal, but he would accept anything that did not leave him crying in the bathroom.

Spy sighed. “What do you want, Scout?”

“Did’ya really do what Miss Pauling said you did?” Scout asked. “The Administrator’s gonna be freakin’ pissed, but that was awesome! Divin’ in to save the day, who knew you had it in ya, frenchy? It must be rubbin’ off’a me. But why’d ya do it? Man, the Administrator is gonna chew you out for that, I swea-

“Scout! Mein Gott, give ze man a chance to speak! Vhat really happened, Spy?” Medic said.

“Report, Private!” Soldier barked. “Any intelligence that we do not have cannot become the property of the enemy!” Everyone paused for a moment as they tried to digest this statement.

Spy sighed; it was too late to make an escape now that he had their full attention. Even Sniper was listening, choosing to eat his meal in the corner instead of returning to his van. The only sounds were Heavy’s breathing and Engie putting a pot in the sink.

Spy sat down with his food. “I bought cigarettes, and a woman and her son were being attacked by a man in the store. I intervened and she was shot in zhe process. Zhe man is no longer a problem, and she will recover. I have already talked with zhe Administrator,” he said curtly.  

Sniper leaned forward. “That can’t be all, mate. What about the lad? Who’s going to keep an eye on him?”

“Zhe boy will be fine,” he replied. His mother is in zhe hospital, not dead. I am sure that there are neighbors and friends zhat can help.” _And me, if I can help it_ , Spy thought.

Through mouthful of food, Scout said, “But seriously man, how did’ya get off the hook? The Administrator’s not about to let us go aroun’ flashin’ our weapons and drawin’ attention. Whad’ya do to get her off your-

“This is stupid baby talk,” Heavy interrupted. “The woman and boy are safe. Spy not in trouble. We now talk about important things, like who broke window in bathroom. Scout?

“Hey! It wasn’t me, big guy!”

“Huddah hurr! Huda mhur hur huda!”

“Och lad, yah did it last time, yah might know who did it this time,” Demo said.

 

Finishing the rest of his meal, Spy washed his plate and left it by the sink, slipping away as the others debated about who really broke the window. They would surely notice his departure, but the shouting that would inevitably take place would give him a headache that he wished to avoid. And beyond that, he had more important issues at hand, like practicing this sport that he would now be teaching children how to play. This… game of frisbees. On the way back to base he had purchased a few frisbees in a local store, and he meant to make good use of the ceasefire.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference to the Administrator's cigarette is from "Comfort Eagle", a song by Cake. Don't smoke, kids. Everyone thinks that it won't kill them, that they're immortal. But smoking doesn't just hurt you. It hurts everyone around you, especially the ones that you love.


	2. This Game of Frisbees

Medic strode to his medbay, scowling. He didn’t blame the spy for sneaking out after dinner; there was only so much of the others that one man could take. He had just reached the door when he saw a flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye, outside the window and moving fast. It disappeared from view, and a few seconds later it was chased by a green flash, again disappearing. A minute went by, and he saw Spy walking in the same direction that the objects had flown in. Confused, he stepped outside to investigate.

“Herr Spy! Vhat is going on?”

Spy froze mid picking up frisbees, hesitated, and straightened up. “Bonjour, Medic. Can I help you, or are you here to bother me?”

“I vas vondering vhat you are doing, Herr Spy.” He tilted his head quizzically. "Vhat is this? Zhat surely cannot be a new weapon?”

Spy dusted off a frisbee. “This? Oh, this is nozhing. I am testing a theory which may help us.”

“Really? Zhis vill help us on ze battlefield?” Medic asked incredulously.

“No, Medic,” Spy sighed. “This is a frisbee, a disc made of plastic which can be thrown. Weighted down, it is about zhe same weight as my sapper. I am trying to ascertain whether or not I can use zhe same technique for my sapper. If done correctly, I can sap zhe BLU turrets using zhis technique,” he lied.

“If everyone vere as dedicated to improving zheir craft as you are, BLU vould be finished,” Medic said, tapping his chin. “But as a matter of course, I am alvays studying new techniques. So how does this vork?”

“You never learned how to use a frisbee?” Spy was surprised.

“Vhen I vas growing up, ve burned our money to stay varm, it vas zhat useless. Ve had no time beyond vhat vork ve could find, nor could ve afford to buy little disks. So no, Herr Spy, I do not know how to use one,” Medic replied calmly.

Spy winced, approaching Medic. It was all too easy to forget that his coworkers had pasts just as tumultuous as his. They didn’t talk much about themselves or their pasts, because of Soldier’s obsession with spies, that incident with the Director, and partly because some of it was just too painful to drag into the light.

Spy cautiously held Medic’s hand.  “Then I must show you. You cup your hand like zhis, like you’re writing. Stick your index finger on zhe rim like zhis, with zhe ozzer fingers inside. Then, put your thumb on zhe top.

Medic looked confused. “Und zhen vhat?”

“Then, you point the back of your wrist away from you, and give it a flick as you let go,” he demonstrated. The frisbee sailed in a straight line, coming to rest just at the base of a pylon forty feet away. “Try it.”

Medic narrowed his eyes and flicked his wrist, trying to copy Spy’s movements. Spy ducked as the frisbee hooked sharply to the right, wobbling in the air before finally collapsing and rolling in the the dust ten feet away. Medic couldn’t keep his disappointment from showing as the frisbee rolled in a circle and came almost back to him.

Spy chuckled, smiling at Medic before retrieving the disk. “That was not bad for your first try. Trust me, I ‘ave seen worse. Try again, and maybe flick your wrist more outwards zhen sideways."

Medic smiled faintly, adjusting his grip. He tossed it again, but this time it sailed straight, skidding when it touched the ground and coming to a stop about twenty feet away. He laughed in delight, returning the smile to Spy.

“Good.” Spy walked over to the frisbee, picking it up. “I trust that you have good reflexes, Medic. In fact, I know that you do.”

“Ja?” Medic said uncertainly.

“When you catch a frisbee, the easiest way to do it is to clap your hands together on it. Ready?” Spy asked

“I-”

Spy pitched the frisbee at Medic, and it soared lazily through the air towards Medic as he yelped and tried to catch it. It caught on his hand and spun, and he hastily tried to juggle it before it slipped from his hands and onto the ground.

Spy chuckled. “Well, at least it didn’t hit you. Now try to send it back to me.”

Medic dusted himself off, and settled into position, nodding. He focused as he would on a difficult procedure and flung the disk. It sailed through the evening air and was neatly fielded by Spy, who caught it with ease.

“How did you catch that?”

“It’s all about timing, and it’s no different than trying to dodge one of Soldier’s missiles,” Spy replied. “I am sure zhat you will improve. You are doing well for a beginner. I have done zhis before, years ago, but it is good to try and apply it now.”

“Indeed, Herr Spy, danke,” Medic nodded.

Spy buffed the frisbee theatrically. “Now, I am going to send it back to you, are you ready?”

“Jawohl, Herr Spy.”

Spy spun the disk and it floated with ease towards Medic. Medic waited for it to approach, and snatched it out of the air, waving it above his head in excitement. Together they passed the frisbee until the last vestiges of light were passing behind the trees. Medic thanked Spy for showing him how to use a frisbee, returning inside with a faint smile on his face. He felt oddly satisfied, and lighter than he had felt in weeks. While he still had paperwork to finish, the tedious hours at his desk didn’t seem quite as bad now.

Spy watched him go, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He then collected the rest of the disks, hoping he was ready enough for tomorrow.

\-----------------------------

 

Spy’s shoes crunched on the gravel as he stepped out of his car in front of the field. The lines on the old football field were faded and the grass was dry and patchy in the summer heat, but children didn’t appear to mind as they ran in the dust. Wishing for a cigarette, he raised the whistle to his lips and blew hard, wincing at the sound. The kids scrambled across the field to meet him, skidding to a halt in front of Spy.

“Good afternoon, children. As you may have heard, Jackson is unable to continue training zhis ultimate team. I will be replacing him. You may call me Coach,” he said.

He scanned the fourteen kids, looking for a familiar face. Ah, yes, there was little Danny. He was small and wiry, his shoes scuffing the dirt. Spy got an impression of pent up energy and an ability to bolt at a moment’s notice. In a way, this reminded him a little of Scout.

Waving his hand in the air, a kid asked, “Coach, why do you talk funny?”

Spy bit back a nasty response, mentally cringing. “Because, garçon, if I didn’t zhen I would talk like you. Zhat is a fate far too terrible to contemplate.” The other boys laughed as the kid looked confused. “So let’s start.” He pointed to the boy. “What is your name?”

He pouted. “It’s Tommy.”

“Good. Tommy, I am placing you in charge of making sure that all of zhe frisbees are collected at zhe end of practice? Can I trust you to do that?”

Tommy’s pout disappeared. He grinned and chest puffed with self-importance. “Yeah!”

“Now-”

“Hey,” somebody whined, “how come he gets to pick up the frisbees?”

Spy turned to another boy and mentally rolled his eyes. Everything from the expensive clothing and shoes to the attitude of superiority screamed “rich parents” to him. “Because I wanted to. Maybe next practice you’ll get to pick up zhe frisbees, maybe not.” He addressed the group. “Who here is the oldest?”

Spy sighed as the boys dissolved into a shouting argument, as if the loudest kid would be the oldest. How were they going to get anything done? The sooner that he learned how to manage these brats, the better. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he blew on his whistle, silencing them.

“Since that simple question was too hard, hey!” He waved his hand to stop protests. “We’ll try zhis. Raise your hand if you are ten.” All of the boys raised their hands. “Eleven?” All of the hands went down. “Ten and a half?” he said, hoping to find a median value. Two boys raised their hands.

Spy pointed to one. “What is your name, and when were you born?”

“Sean, and I was born September twe-”

Spy interrupted, “Yes, yes, that will do. What about you?” he asked as he pointed to second boy.

The kid took a step back and stammered “H-Harris, um,October.”

“Merci. Sean? What did Coach Jackson have you do to start playing?”

Sean looked around for support, and found none forthcoming. “We pass it to our partner ten times, then pass it to the others.”

“And what about zhe boys on zhe ends?”

Sean looked down, and shuffled his feet. “Um, we never got that far.”

Spy sighed internally. “Well, zhen we will start with just passing it back and forth between a partner. Choose someone you’ve never been a partner with, and grab a frisbee.”

Watching the boys, it soon became clear that Jackson’s skill as a coach left something to be desired. More than that, it left a lot to be desired. While the boys were able to pass and catch most of the time, it was not nearly as clean as he would have hoped for. Aim was another problem, and as frisbees flew across other pairs and kids scrambled to catch them, he chuckled despite himself. What had he gotten himself into? He couldn’t back out now, so when one of the disks rolled up to his feet he picked it up, blowing the whistle.

“Alright, come in! Now, would anyone like to tell me what happened?” He winced as every boy started protesting at once. “One at a time! Harris, what went wrong?”

“Um, well Tyler threw it across Andy’s, and when he went to get it Bobby caught Andy’s frisbee by accident and threw it to the side to catch Nick’s and then everyone was trying to catch their own frisbees and get out of the way. Tommy missed his frisbee trying to dodge Tyler’s frisbee and then his frisbee went and hit Danny. It’s all Tyler’s fault.” he finished sullenly.

“Nuh uh! Danny kicked dust at me!” Tyler whined.

“Shut up! No I didn’t!” Danny shot back.

Spy looked at Danny, who was sporting a bruised shin and glaring in defiance. “It does not matter who started what.” He said, folding his arms behind his back and pacing. “What matters is how you get past that. You will not succeed if you cannot focus on teamwork. And if you cannot focus on teamwork, your whole team fails.” Spy smiled thinly at the irony, thinking of his own team. Most of the time they were barely functional, the rest of the time they were either falling apart or had banded together out of desperation. He hoped that it wouldn’t come to that here. “Now Tyler, who was your partner?”

Tyler stuck his tongue out at Danny. “It was Mark.”

“And Mark, why did you not catch Tyler’s throw?”

“He threw it to the side, not at me!” Mark said.

“And why were you not watching him? Why were you not anticipating that something might happen?” Spy stopped, and turned to the boys. “It is important to watch your partner, because out on zhe field you may not be able to throw directly to your teammates if you are cornered. It is very easy to be distracted. A little bit of dust here,” Danny looked up at him, “or a thrown frisbee zhere,” Bobby reddened as Spy looked at him, “can make zhe difference between winning and losing.”

“Coach Jackson always said that winning is more important than making friends!” a voice said.

Spy recognized the troublemaker as the same from before. “And your name is?”

“Rick, and my father wouldn’t like you. He’ll talk to the school!”

Spy smiled, amused. “I’m sure he will. It will not matter. Coach Jackson was sorely mistaken in telling you to focus only on winning. You can’t win alone,” he said bitterly. “Furthermore, you will all have to practice with your aim. I want everyone to grab a frisbee and follow me.”

Spy strode onto the field, stopping twenty feet from the goal post. “Form a line behind me. We will see who can get zheir frisbee the closest to zhe goal post. Begin.”

It wasn’t as bad as it could be, Spy mused, as he watched each of them take a turn throwing at the post. When the extra element of a team mate was removed, some of them were actually pretty good at aiming.

Spy: “Well it seems that you understand aiming, good. I have a challenge for, a little game if you will. Are you ready for zhis?

Andy raised his hand. “Is this some stupid teambuilding game?”

Spy blinked. “No, and I congratulate you on your grasp of cynicism.”

“What does that mean?” Andy asked.

“It means that now we are going to practice aiming to ozzer people. Stand in a circle about an arm’s length from your neighbor.” And Spy moved to join them in the circle, holding a disk. “I’m going to pass zhis to someone, and I won’t say who. That person will pass to someone else, and so on.”

He hurled the disk to Rick, who caught it clumsily. He made a face at Spy, but tossed the disk to Sean, who tossed it to Tommy. Occasionally someone would throw it to Spy, and the cycle would continue. When someone missed the catch, Spy would simply encourage them to pick it up and throw it again. As time wore on the boys improved considerably, throwing to different people and catching more smoothly. As the sun started to set he caught the frisbee, stepping forward.

“Good. It is a start. Mark, how often did Jackson have zhis team meet?”

“Um, on Thursdays before the game on Friday.” Mark fiddled with his shirt.

“Well zhat is not enough. You will all meet here on Tuesdays as well,” a chorus of groans met that, “and if your parents protest, tell zhem to come to practice to talk to me. I understand that only ten boys are on zhe field at once, so if you stop coming zhen we will be able to replace you. Is that clear?” The boys droned a ‘yes’. “Very good. You all did well today, we are done. Danny, I’d like to speak with you.”

The boys scrambled to leave, with Tommy hastily dumping the rest of the frisbees in front of Spy before running to catch up to the others. Danny scuffed the dirt with his shoe, approaching Spy.

“Is anyone taking care of you at home, Danny?”

“Mom says I shouldn’t tell people,” said Danny, averting his eyes.

Spy knelt down on one knee “Mm, and your mother is a very smart woman. But she asked me to watch out for you while she is in zhe hospital, and I keep my promises. Your mother worries about you, and if you are safe then she will feel better. Do you want your mother to feel better?”

“Yeah, but you stabbed him!” He looked up at Spy. “Killing people is wrong!”

 _Oh, dear_ , he thought. “And if I didn’t, what do you think would have happened? He would ‘ave hurt your mother, and zhen you too. I had to stop him, and killing somebody is not pleasant. But,” he sighed, “sometimes you must place yourself in front of danger to help ozzers. Just because it was necessary does not mean that I liked doing it. I did it to help her, as I am trying to help her now.”

“Why do you want to help my mom? Lots of guys say that they’re helping my mom, but if they were she wouldn’t cry so much,” Danny said warily.

Spy winced; such cynicism in one so young! “I am not sure myself, and I am sorry. But I made a promise, and I do not break promises. Will you help me help your mother?

Danny seemed to be conflicted. “I guess. A neighbor is watching the house, and a friend is leaving food in the fridge. The doctors said that she’ll be able to come home in a few weeks. Do you think she’ll be ok?”

Spy smiled. “Trust me, she will recover. Do you need a ride home?”

“No, I can walk, thanks.”

Spy brushed the dust off his suit, standing up. “Let me know if you need help. I will see you tomorrow, zhen. You are free to go.”

He watched Danny run off, lighting a cigarette. He had hoped for a better start, but perhaps the other team would be as bad as them tomorrow. They could throw and pass, but they were missing that fundamental trust in each other. Without that trust, he knew that there would be chaos on the field, just like there was when RED hired him. First he would have to teach them trust, and if he somehow managed to pull that off, maybe strategy. He stood there a little longer, musing on the past, then he packed the frisbees in the car and drove off.         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that characters have accents. Some people regard them as a pain, and I understand completely, if they are thick enough. I appreciate them, because when I read my brain makes a movie out of the words, and the different speaking styles of the characters helps me "hear" them better.
> 
> Medic's is thick enough to cut cheese with, but Spy's is a little different. His is probably carefully crafted, but it gets thicker the angrier he gets. I once worked with a lovely woman from France, and much of his thicker accent is modeled after her speech patterns, watered down a little. I live close enough to Boston to have a little of Scout's accent. The rest are based off of what I've heard them say, and what I've read. If anyone finds them hard to read, feel free to contact me for a cleaner version. :)


	3. Headaches and Coffee

Heavy was just finishing his after battle polish of Sasha when he heard it.

It was almost a soft _thunk_ against the window, audible enough to be heard, but far from loud when considered against the cacophony of battle. He laid Sasha aside lovingly, stroking the barrel before going outside to see what had caused the noise.

It was quiet in the gorge, a few snatches of birdsong faint on the breeze. He breathed deeply, enjoying the cool summer evening. The sunlight had almost completely faded, and a few stars were just starting to poke out. He followed the contour of the building towards his window, confident in the knowledge that anyone on the opposite team’s side during ceasefires would be terminated. He appreciated these moments, when he could breathe without fearing a knife in his lungs.

As he approached the window it seemed like nothing had been disturbed. There were no new scorch marks, no branches or errant baseballs. But then, he noticed a few wispy feathers on the window, and something twitched on the ground. It was a tiny sparrow huddled in the leaves, trying to be very still.

Heavy knelt in the leaf litter, taking care to be slow. “Hello, little bird. Where is your home? It is getting dark,” he murmured, not expecting a reply as he gently scooped the sparrow up into his hands. It made no attempt to fly and looked up at him dazedly as he cupped his hands over it. And for a moment he was a child in the snow again, holding a little corpse before he buried it. This one shifted in his hands, and he reminded himself that things would be different this time.

Heavy took the bird inside, remembering what Medic once told him about birds in shock. The little thing had fortunately not snapped its neck in the collision with the window, but after such a violent hit the sparrow would not be flying for a while. He would have to go see the Doctor after the man had finished his battle paperwork and was free to relax. For now, perhaps he could make a warm bottle and a towel in the kitchen for the bird to curl up against.

He wrapped the sparrow carefully in the towel and set it on the counter in the kitchen, and it was only when he turned around towards the table that he noticed Spy sitting in the corner. The Frenchman  was hunched over the table with his face buried in the crook of his arm, fingers limp. In his other hand the stub of a cigarette hovered barely above an ashtray, long since burned out. He was so still that if it weren’t for the faint rise of his chest Heavy would be calling for Medic. He approached cautiously, not wanting to startle the man.

“Spy?” he asked, and the man lifted his head to rest it on his chin and look up at Heavy. He looked extremely unhappy, which confused Heavy. They did well today, and the BLU’s  suffered a resounding defeat. Everyone was in high spirits tonight, and it concerned him to see Spy like this. He had disappeared shortly after the ceasefire was called, and until now, nobody had seen him.

His voice gravelly, Spy said, “Oui? What is it you want, Heavy?”

“Is Spy ok? Team did very well in fight today! BLU babies shot many times. Have you seen Doktor?” Heavy asked.

Spy dropped his butt in ashtray and pushed himself upright. “I am perfectly fine Heavy, you need not concern yourself. I am merely weary from zhe battle today.”

Spy’s words did nothing to convince Heavy, but he knew that there was no way that he could make the man talk. He patted him on the back. “Spy is credit to team, we kill many BLU babies in next battle, da?

The spook flinched and stood up, icily replying, “Mmm, indeed.”

“Will Spy join tonight for poker games? We did not see you at dinner.”

Spy’s expression clouded. “Non. I will be spending the evening in my room. Good night.”

Heavy watched him go, concerned. He could only hope that Spy would be feeling better before tomorrow, when they would need him. He filed it into the back of his mind as he remembered the task at hand, filling an empty bottle with some of the stale coffee in the pot, still warm. Nestling the bird bundle against the warmth, he set off to find Medic and what he could do for his little charge.

\-----------------------------

Spy sat on his bed, cradling his forehead in his hand. It did nothing to dispel his headache, but at least when he closed his eyes he could pretend not to hear his teammates celebrating.

It wasn’t that the boys did badly today. Well, actually, it was.

Not a complete disaster, but each of the boys seemed intent on being the one to chase the frisbee to a glorious score, with no thought towards his teammates. Watching the swarm of kids chase the frisbee like puppies after a squirrel was almost comical, if not for the fact that the kid who held the frisbee could not run with it and all of the kids were trying to be the one that caught it. There were penalties for shoving everywhere, and the one point that they scored was completely on accident.

Someone ran down the hall outside, probably Scout by the sound of it.

And the other team… well, if they were what he should expect normally, then he was surely doomed. They blocked, passed, and generally acted like a team should. Their coach seemed to know what he was doing, which was certainly a one up on him and his boys.

His boys, he blinked at the sudden revelation. Yes, they were his group of boys and his alone. They were his responsibility, and his to guide and teach. But, they were also his headache. He had signed up as a coach to watch over Danny and coast a moderately decent team through a moderately successful season. What he got was a dysfunctional group of squabbling children that he somehow had to teach Ultimate. He could almost hear the Administrator laughing at him.

But the season was far from over. If he could learn to deal with his teammates, he could learn to deal with a group of children.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one, but a cute one.
> 
> I got the idea for the sparrow from "Poker Night in the Inventory", when Heavy buried a little sparrow as a child. It's immortalized by this lovely artist: http://ky-nim.deviantart.com/art/TF2-Little-Bird-258159964 The feels are strong in this one.
> 
> I like the idea of there always being coffee in the kitchen. I lived at a co-op where the stuff was the elixir of life for my housemates, and even if I don't drink it I respect its bowel-jarring, hyperactivity-inducing, power.


	4. Miss Jones

He saw the reporter as soon as he pulled into the field parking lot, and debated just turning around and canceling practice for the day. He would have if he hadn’t known that the Administrator was watching for any sign that he would break this promise. The journalist was young, and she leaned on the fence as the kids played farther down the field. Well, it was probably playing; it was hard to tell from this far away. As she approached he mused that it was too late to back out now, and parked his car. She was dressed in a sensible skirt and blouse against the heat, with her long hair pulled off of her neck.

Spy stepped out of the car. “Good afternoon, madame,” he finished after a short pause to regretfully notice the ring on her finger.

“Good afternoon. I am Miss Jones from The Journal, and I would just like to ask you a few questions,” she twirled a pen in her fingers.

Spy cringed inwardly. How much could he say without ensuring her death? As foolish as the sentiment was, he didn’t want an innocent reporter to die. He would be walking a narrow tightrope. “Well it would be a pleasure to talk with you, however we must keep it short. I would not deny the boys zheir practice.”

“Of course, Mr... what did you say that your name was?” she asked.

_Not bad, my dear. But I am better._ Spy smiled charmingly. “Discret, madame. But please, call me Coach around zhe boys.”

She wrote something down in her notebook. “Well, I am glad to finally catch up with you. It seems that no one knows where you are from or who you are, and as I’m sure you can imagine this is quite disturbing to the parents of these children. Who are you, and where are you from?”

Spy winked. “It’s a little early for that, isn’t it? After all, we ‘ave just met.”

Miss Jones blushed. “I can assure you, I meant that only in the most professional way. It would really set the parents and our readers at ease if they knew something about the mysterious man their children spend so much time with.”

“I am ‘ardly a mystery, madame. I am but a simple coach that read an article about recent events and decided to apply. I have lived in zhis area for several years.”

“Forgive me for saying this, but you don’t exactly sound like it,” she said lightly, but with an edge of skepticism.

Spy smiled faintly. “I ‘ave family far away, so some of it must have rubbed off on me. I assure you that I am not some foreigner here to steal children. Zhe safety of these boys is my primary concern.”

She wrote something else down. “I can see that you haven’t taken long to settle in, then. Do you know anything about your job’s previous occupant?”

_Blunt, and to the point._ Spy allowed his face to crease with concern. “How could I not? From what I know, he was a violent man, and I will not mourn his passing.”

“Would you care to elaborate? Where were you on Sunday afternoon?” she asked earnestly.

“Am I under some sort of investigation?” Spy asked.

Miss Jones chuckled. “No, you are not, and I wouldn’t presume to be the police. But by all witness accounts, you do bear a striking resemblance to the missing ‘Good Samaritan’. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Spy remained impassive. _And so we come down to the real reason._ “I am sorry to disappoint, madame, but I was at home doing some yardwork. I know nothing about zhis mystery Samaritan except that he is not me. Is zhat all you wished to ask? After all, I have a job to do.”

“I understand, thank you for your time. If you have anything else that you wish to add, you can always contact the Journal. Good luck, I think that you’ll need it,” she said, nodding towards the field.

Spy turned to the boys, noticing that most of them were encircling two of their teammates. Sighing, he hurried over just as the first punch was swung and arrived to pull them apart just as Danny was kicked to the ground by Rick. Pushing them to either side, he said “I don’t want to hear who started it. I don’t even want to know why yet. But I am going to make it clear zhat zhe next time zhat you two fight, you are both sidelined until furzher notice. Am I understood?” Spy growled.

“He-” Rick started.

“I do not want to hear it!” Spy snapped. “You will wait until I ask, and if your father wants to talk to me about zhis zhen he is free to come to practice.” He addressed them both. ‘I know zhat you hate each ozzer but is it worth making zhe whole team lose because of it? No! If you want to win you have to get it in your head zhat you are stuck with zhe people around you.” Spy stepped back. “You can be enemies outside of zhis team, but if you want to win here, zhen you must be allies. I want you two to shake hands.”

Both boys glared at each other for a long minute, not moving. The other boys stopped shuffling around, as if they realized the importance of this. Then, slowly and stiffly, Danny extended his hand. Five more seconds went by, and Rick extended his hand. They shook quickly and then jerked their hands away as if shocked.

Spy smiled. “Good! Let’s win zhis time, shall we?” He turned to the other boys. “And zhat goes for zhe rest of you as well. We are better zhan zhe ozzer team, let us prove zhat.”

Spy paused, and then grinned mischievously. “Do you want to play a game?” The boys yelled in response. “I am going to break you up into pairs, and you’ll grab a frisbee. Zhe boy with zhe frisbee will stand still while zhe ozzer walks or jogs around in a wide circle. Zhe first boy will try to throw to his partner. If his partner catches zhe frisbee, you both gain a point and zhe boy that threw it will start to run around zhe one who caught it. If neither can catch zhe frisbee, you gain no points. Whichever group gets zhe most points in five minutes wins. Zhen we will switch teams.”

He moved among the boys, pairing together those he knew didn’t have much interaction with each other. Danny went with one boy, Rick with another, and soon everyone was set up on the field, and he blew the whistle to begin.

It was chaos, but there was a method to the madness. He nodded to himself, smiling. Once an element of competition was added to the game, they improved immensely, and as soon as the first pair got one point the rest of them focused with renewed effort to beat the others. Walking turned to running, and frisbees soared through the air as boys tried to be the fastest and craftiest. Spy chuckled and blew the whistle, calling them in.

“That is zhe best that I ‘ave seen you play. Well done, all of you! But zhere would be no purpose to zhis if zhere was no winner. Ed and Kenny, you are zhe winners of zhis round. Remember all of you zhat it does not matter ‘ow you throw, so long as your partner can catch it. And now, we are going to switch teams.”

He split the boys up again, this time as if it was by random chance that Danny and Rick were paired together. They looked at each other grudgingly, not quite glaring, but not thrilled, either.

“This time you ‘ave three minutes, and zhe winners will each get a trophy. He held up a small carved wooden bird the size of his thumb. It had taken three ceasefires, careful application of his balisong, and many rejects to add to Pyro’s burn collection before he had two that he felt would suffice. “Ready? Go!” Spy blew the whistle.

He saw the look in their eyes when they saw the prize, and it was no surprise to him when the boys threw themselves into the game. He watched the other boys, but his main focus and source of pride was with Rick and Danny. They narrowed their eyes at each other, viciously whipping the frisbee as fast as they could back and forth to each other. Both boys darted and spun while sneering at each other, daring the other to be the first to falter and be the reason that they lost. But neither did, and when Spy blew the whistle for everyone to come in there was not a harsh word to be heard.

“I am proud of all of you. Zhis time zhere was one winner, but maybe next time it might be you. Rick and Danny, please step forward.”

Against the groans and “aws” of disappointment from the other boys, the two walked up to Spy grinning. He handed each of them a bird. “I am proud of both of you. Keep playing like that, and no one can stop us.”

Watching their faces light up, he knew that while it wasn’t over, he might have a chance at making this work. These were his boys, and his boys were going to win.

\---------------------------------

The Administrator stubbed out another cigarette as she sat back in her chair and surveyed the bank of cameras. Her eyes came to rest again on the one monitor showing Spy and the boys. Miss Pauling slipped into the room to stand attentively by her side.

“It seems that the press has finally found RED Spy,” the Administrator said.

Miss Pauling turned to look at her. “Do you want me to take care of her? She’ll never write the article.”

The Administrator paused. “No, Miss Pauling. He was successful in evading her questions and misleading her. She may live, for now. However, if she continues to pursue him and he is unable to set her mind at ease, you know what to do. In the meantime, keep an eye on the daily publication as usual.”

“Yes, Madame Administrator,” Miss Pauling replied meekly.

The pair fell silent, watching the monitors. One showed Soldier polishing his boots, another showed Engineer handing Scout a book and Scout smiling quickly, hiding the book like a forbidden treasure. Medic slept on his paperwork, and Heavy made a sandvich.

“Why are you still here, Miss Pauling? Do you have something to add?”

Miss Pauling cleared her throat. “Well, it’s interesting to see how the boys affect Spy.”

The Administrator pursed her lips and stubbed out her cigarette. “Yes Miss Pauling, it is. When the boys practice well, he flourishes on the battlefield and terrified BLUs are flinching at every shadow. But when the boys fight and fail, he is constantly dragging himself out of respawn. He is devoting a lot of thought and energy to a simple sports team. Why do you think that is, Miss Pauling?”

“Well, there’s a lot at stake,” she said thoughtfully. “His promise to help the boy is like a contract. And if he breaks that contract, he may fear that you will believe that he would break his contract with RED.”

“And so he must juggle the two tasks without failing either. This may become a problem.”

“Do you want me to terminate his contract with the boy, Madame Administrator?”

This time the pause was longer, as the Administrator stared at the tv screens. “No. I will allow this little dalliance to continue, and we will see if he can succeed. Either way, it will be amusing. You will know what to do if it… ceases to entertain. You are dismissed.”

As Miss Pauling left the room, the Administrator lit another cigarette and placed it in her holder, narrowing her eyes at the screen. This was simply another game. If he won, RED would benefit from his experience at guiding a team. If he lost… then perhaps he would have nothing left to live for beyond RED and he would never attempt something like this again. Either way, the matter would be resolved.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Spy's assumed name: for those of you who, like me, can't speak French, Discret (pronounced "Dees-cray") translates roughly to "discreet" in the English language. A discreet, mysterious gentleman like Spy has to have at least some sense of humor. 
> 
> The mention of Scout receiving a book from Engineer is from the wonderful idea that the loud, obnoxious Boston punk learns to appreciate a good book. The story maintains all of their characters with far more humanity than is regularly seen in the game, and is a true delight to read. It doesn't change the way the characters act, it celebrates it in a way that is all too hard to find in a good fanfic. You can find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1291843


	5. Gang aft agley

Sniper shifted position, and focused on the battlefield again. The last hours had been a gruelling struggle against the other team, and with only five minutes officially left in the match Sniper resolved to do whatever he could to help his team in the final push to secure the site’s one and only control point.

He sighted his scope on the main stage, where Heavy seemed to be doing his best impression of a one man army. He could hear the laughter from his sniper nest as the man strode past BLU bodies in various stages of Respawn, the Medic trailing behind him. Sniper’s mouth twitched. Heavy could be really scary on the battlefield. He spotted a shimmer behind Medic, and neatly shot the BLU Spy in the head just as he decloaked. Medic looked behind him, then nodded thanks.

The tide of the battle had shifted many times as each team was snatched from the brink of victory. As one team was about to win, the other would surge forward in a desperate attempt to turn the battle, and offense would be forced onto defense. Sniper sighted the BLU Engineer working on upgrading his turret to the third stage, and he fired before the man could finish.

The PA system clicked on, and he heard the faint “Mission ends in sixty seconds” echo across the grounds. RED Heavy bellowed out a war cry and charged forward, cutting down the opposing Scout as he charged to the point. The turret opened fire on Heavy and Medic, bringing their advance to a halt. But then Sniper saw something small and metallic fly through the air, skidding to a halt at the turret. Sniper focused his scope in on the small box, and what he now recognized to be a sapper short circuited the turret. As it collapsed in a shower of sparks and metal his team surged forward, Heavy and Medic dashing to stand on the point. Medic looked grimly determined, blood streaming from the bullet wounds that lightly peppered his body. Sniper guessed the only thing keeping the man on his toes was pure adrenaline, and the desire to win. Heavy wore the same expression as the two fought off anyone who came within range.

Scout sprinted to join them on the point to fight back the  BLUs, with Soldier pausing only to deliver a vicious blow with his shovel to the opposing team’s Pyro before following. From his nest Sniper could barely hear the PA system click on with a “Mission ends in sixty seconds” in favor of RED. Seconds seemed to drag into hours as Sniper aimed at anyone trying to take out their Medic. Protecting Medic was his sole priority now, and if he failed and Medic fell then BLU would cut down the remaining REDs on the point and start advancing again. His ears ached with the effort of straining them to catch the sound of the approaching BLU Spy, who had vanished from the field after Sniper’s head shot. He saw what appeared to be his own Pyro start advancing on his nest and shot at it. He barely grazed its head, and the disguised BLU Spy sprinted for cover.

Grimacing at the thought of dealing with the Spy, he focused again on the point. “Mission ends in ten seconds” the PA system intoned, and the opposing team surged forward in a desperate attempt to claim the point.

“Five”... Sniper took aim at the opposing team’s Medic, firing and only hitting his shoulder.

“Four”... BLU Soldier stomped on RED’s Demoman, only to be cut down by a turret.

“Three”... RED Pyro sprayed a wall of fire at the BLUs, hooting gleefully. A bullet barely missed Sniper’s throat as the enemy Sniper fired on him.

“Two”... BLU Scout dodged the flames only to be assaulted by Medic’s bonesaw.

“One”... Both BLU Heavy and Medic cried out in shock as they were fatally stabbed in the back. The backbone of the BLU advance collapsed and retreated as they fell.

“Victory!” The PA system crowed, and BLU team scrambled to flee in defeat. Sniper stood up and stretched, smiling faintly. The sting of the last three defeats could be forgotten after such a hard won victory, and everyone was sure to be in high spirits tonight.

As he climbed down from his perch, Sniper noticed something odd. Instead of joining the rest of the team in walking back to the medbay to be examined by Medic, Spy was picking his way across the battlefield towards where the vehicles were stored, making an effort to seem nonchalant.

Sniper paused, intrigued. Spy had been disappearing regularly from the Gorge base after the battles for a week or so now, only on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, and he had returned just after sunset each time. Sniper knew that it was rude to pry, but sometimes when Spy returned he was depressed and short tempered. Sniper felt that this impacted the team’s performance, and that Spy would not blame him for being concerned over the team’s welfare. Mind made up, he shifted the weight of his rifle on his shoulders and followed after Spy.

He waited until Spy had reached his car and fired up the engine before he crept into his van, patiently waiting for Spy to turn onto the dirt road leading away from the base. As Spy drove off, Sniper started his van and followed on the winding road to town, keeping his distance in order to avoid attracting Spy’s attention. 

Spy drove into town, winding through streets towards the school. Sniper noted where he was pulling in, and drove to a diner parking lot not far from there. Carrying his scope with him, he crept through the woods to see where Spy had parked. To his surprise Spy seemed to be walking towards a sports field, where children were running around. The faint tone of a whistle echoed across the field, and the boys ran towards Spy. Turning off the laser on his scope and settling into the brush on the fringes of where the forest met the field, Sniper peered through it to get a closer look.

Spy appeared to be talking to the boys, opening a sack and emptying… what appeared to be frisbees on the dusty grass. He said something, and then started pointing to each boy, who would then move to either side of him. Once all of the boys were divided, he gave half of them green slips of paper to wear on their arms. Then, he strode onto the field holding a frisbee, the boys trailing after him until he reached the center. The boys each went to opposite ends of the field and lined up facing their opponent. Spy tossed the frisbee to one side, grimacing and blowing the whistle. The boys surged forward and a green boy caught it, and the game began.

Sniper watched, confused. He could see what it looked like, but it still made no sense to him. It looked like Spy was coaching a team of boys, like he was playing frisbee with them. But he didn’t know why Spy was doing this, or how all this got started.

The green boys passed it back and forth as they advanced on the other goal, and Sniper noticed that when a boy held the frisbee, he did not move while the rest of the boys swarmed around him. The boy spun the disk and missed the teammate, and Spy blew the whistle, calling something out. A boy from the skin team picked up the frisbee and play commenced again.

This went on for some time, each team chasing the frisbee around under Spy’s watchful eye. When a boy pushed another to grab the frisbee the whistle blew, and the boy who was pushed was given the frisbee to throw. At first glance Sniper almost dismissed the chaotic movement of the boys on the field, but after a while there seemed to be a rhythm to it, and soon the skin team boys made one final catch in the end zone. Spy blew the whistle as boys cheered, calling them in. They all ran to him, and he started talking to them.

Sniper leaned into his scope, frowning. What baffled him the most was the attention that they boys gave to him, and the passion with which Spy acted. He was totally focused on the boys, and that was the biggest mystery to Sniper. The lads started playing again, and after a while the green boys scored, and Spy talked to them again. As one boy began to pick up the frisbees, Spy started to talk to a boy and the rest left. They started to walk towards his car. Privacy be damned, he would have to talk to Spy about this.

Sensing that now would be his last chance to leave without detection, he walked back the way he came and climbed into his van. When Spy returned to base he would be waiting for them, and hopefully he would get the answers he needed.

 

\-------------------------------

Spy blew the whistle, calling the boys in for the last time. He was pleased with their performance today, and more so with the fact that they were getting the hang of passing and catching. He was feeling confident that they had a chance tomorrow, and that at the very least they might score a few goals.

Spy spread his hands. “Boys, I am proud of how far you have come. Tomorrow we will show zhe ozzer team that we are better! You have done well today, and we are done. You may go.”

As the boys started to leave, he called to Danny to get his attention. “Danny? May I have a word with you?” The boy ran over, and Spy knelt by him.

“‘ave you seen your mother recently?” Spy asked.

Danny looked scared. “No, why? Is she ok?”

Spy raised a hand placatingly. “Relax, garҫon, she is fine. Would you like to visit her?”

“Can I?” Danny asked hopefully.

“Of course, I will take you to see her.” Spy replied. “Come along”

Spy walked slowly back to his car, with Danny skipping with excitement. It had taken a little while for Spy to track down Miss Locklin’s room in the hospital, but he felt that this would be well worth the trouble.

For a while the only sounds as they drove were the roar of the engine and Danny drumming his fingers as he looked out the window. Spy looked over occasionally, but didn’t dare break the silence.

“Coach, why do you wear a mask? It’s not Halloween.”

Spy smiled faintly, he had been waiting for this. “It’s simple. Why do you wear clothes, Danny?”

Danny looked confused. “Because my mom says I can’t go out in public without them?”

“And zhere is your answer.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Danny said.

“I’m sorry that I cannot explain much better than that,” Spy said. “But as part of my ozzer job I am paid to dress like zhis.”

“What is your other job, Coach?”

Spy looked back to the road, debating on whether or not he should tell him the truth. There was little chance that anyone would believe the boy, but if the townsfolk knew that the Mann Co. mercenaries were back in town, then his chance to help Danny would vanish faster than a snowflake in Pyro’s flamethrower.

Spy paused. “I... am an actor.”

Danny grinned. “Cool! Are you in a play?”

“No, not at zhe moment.” Danny’s face fell. “But as long as I am hired, I must wear zhe mask.”

“Isn’t it hot?” Danny asked.

Spy smiled as they pulled into the hospital parking lot, recalling all of the times he had narrowly escaped a Pyro. “Not as much as you would think. Zhere are far worse things than that.”

The receptionist looked bored, and he crossed the rather horrible carpet to her desk with confidence and a charming smile, Danny in tow.

“Good afternoon, Madame Finch.” Spy read the nameplate without skipping a beat. “Would you be so kind as to point me in zhe direction of Room 324?”

She looked skeptical, and scowled at him. “Visiting hours end in five minutes and the doctor hasn’t cleared that patient for visitors yet. Come back tomorrow when he’s in to get permission.”

“Ah, but we are not here for a mere social call, madame,” Spy said, leaning in. "I am here to discuss certain legal issues with Miss Locklin, and she has placed her son under my ward as a witness. But if you would seek to deny me access to my client, perhaps that might be a cause for action against... other parties?”

Mrs. Finch’s eyes widened, and she pointed. “Third floor, at the end.”

Spy inclined his head. “Thank you for your cooperation, madame. We will not be long.”

As they walked down the lime green linoleum halls, Danny asked. “Was it true, what you said?”

“Some of it was, most of it was not,” Spy replied. “Two important things to remember, Danny, is zhat all good lies have a little truth in them, and to never lie to your mother. Mothers always know.”

As they reached the room, Spy put a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Remember, be gentle.”

The boy nodded, and they walked inside. Miss Locklin was sitting in bed, staring out the window at the small park across the street. She looked sad in this cold white room with its depressingly cheerful picture of a teapot on the wall, and the sky was slowly growing dark outside.

“Mom?” Danny said as he approached. She turned to look and her face lit up with excitement.

“Danny? Oh baby, come here. Who brought you?” she asked as Danny carefully leaned into her embrace. She released Danny and looked at his face, frowning as she noticed the beginnings of a bruise on Danny’s chin. “Baby, what happened to you?”

“I got into a fight, but it’s all ok now. Coach brought me!”

“And who is ‘Coach’, Danny?” she asked warily.

Spy stepped into the room from the doorway. “Good evening, mademoiselle.”

Elizabeth stiffened, putting a hand on Danny. “Danny, do you know who this man is?”

“That’s Coach, mom. He’s really cool and he’s been teaching us how to play frisbee and he gave me this!” Danny pulled out his carved bird excitedly. “He said that he promised to help you.”

“That’s very nice, dear.” She folded her hands in lap and looked to Spy. “Who are you, and why are you helping my son? Why are you helping me?” she said protectively.

Spy took step into room, smiling faintly. “You may call me Discret. Sometimes, mademoiselle, we must ask ourselves what we are in zhe dark. It is easy to do something good when everyone is watching, but what about when no one will know any better? You asked me to watch over your son, and I have taken zhis to heart. If I can help your son while you are ill, zhen perhaps I have made something right in zhe world. I have tried my best, and I apologize zhat I was unable to stop zhe fight sooner.”  

Miss Locklin turned to Danny. “Why were you fighting, Danny? You’ll get in trouble again.”

Danny’s face fell. “He said that you didn’t love me, and that you were gonna leave like dad did. He said that’s why dad left, that he didn’t love me.”

Her expression creased with worry. “Oh baby, come here. Sit beside me.” Danny carefully sat on the hospital bed next to her. “Sometimes things happen that are out of our control. Dad didn’t leave because he wanted to, he left because he had to. I love you Danny, and I will never leave you.” She pulled him into an awkward half embrace, stroking his hair. After a moment, she looked up at Spy. “So, Mr... Discret, how long will you be watching over my son?”

Spy inclined his head. “I travel often, but I will be here for a little while. When zhe frisbee season ends in two weeks I will no longer be Danny’s coach, but I will try my best to help while I am here. I will be here for zhe next few weeks, but beyond that I will make no promises.”

She nodded and leaned back on the pillows. “The doctors are keeping me here for another week, and after that I can come home. Is Mary still watching the house, Danny?”

“Yeah, and Mr. Terry mowed yesterday,” he answered.

“Good.” Miss Locklin smiled wearily at Spy, resting her head back on pillow. “Had this never happened, I would have never realized the kindness of strangers. Thank you.”

Spy smiled in return, and he hoped that his own beloved lady would forgive him for thinking that at this moment; Miss Locklin looked quite beautiful surrounded by machines in a lifeless hospital room. Her face was still pale, but her brown eyes had a life in them that the world had not yet extinguished. He hoped it never would.

Spy beckoned to Danny. “Come, your mother is exhausted. We can visit again another time. Good evening to you, mademoiselle.”

Danny hugged his mother and she kissed him, and then he hopped off of the bed to follow Spy. The receptionist gave him a glare as he strolled towards the exit, but said nothing as they left the building. Danny told Spy where he lived, and they started heading for the outskirts of town. They drove in silence through streets that got progressively cracked and bumpier. The houses became shabbier and the street lights farther in between, and Danny’s house crouched in between the trees like it was ashamed. Its paint was peeling and the door sat crookedly, like it had been kicked in before.

“Is zhis where you live?”

“Yeah,” Danny replied defensively. “Mom says that we can fix it up, and it’ll be our own home.”

“Mmm, indeed. A home is a good thing to have. I will see you tomorrow then?” Spy asked.

Danny climbed out of the car. “Yeah, bye Coach!”

Spy frowned as he watched Danny sprint to his house and jimmy the door open. It shook in its frame as he shut it, and a dog howled a few houses over. He wished that there was more that he could do, but any promise he made was another way the Administrator could break him. He sighed, winced and moved uncomfortably, shifted the car into gear, and drove away.

\-----------------------------------------

 

By the time Spy pulled into base, the pain in his side had blossomed from a dull ache to to excruciating agony. When he next met the enemy Scout, his revenge would be sweet and slow. He pulled his car into the lot, noting with suspicion that the gate had been left open. Spy parked and gingerly climbed out, wincing as he locked the gate shut.

“Evenin’, Spy. Ain’t it a beauty out?”

Spy turned around guiltily at the voice, and in the late dusk he spotted Sniper laying on his van hood with his hat on his chest. He sat up and put his hat on his head, jumping down and leaning on the radiator. He crossed his arms and smiled at Spy.

Spy schooled his expression into a calm mask. “Good evening, Sniper. Were you about to do some stargazing?”

“Nah, mate, I was waitin’ for you, yah had me worried. Does the Administrator know what you’ve been doin’?” Sniper asked.

A cold pit settled in his stomach. “What do you mean? I was simply out buying some cigarettes.”

Sniper chuckled. “Nice try, but the supply train just came, an’ we all know that y’don’t smoke a whole crate’s worth of ‘em in a few days, as much as you try. C’mon, I followed you out an’ saw ya.”

Outrage momentarily outweighed pain and fear in Spy, and he snapped. “You followed me?”

Sniper put up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Woah, woah, I wanted to make sure that you were alroight. I was worried about yah, since you’ve been goin’ off on yer own a lot lately. I didn’ mean to pry. But seriously mate, why’re yah sneakin’ off to go throw a disc with a bunch of boys?”

Spy scowled as him. How could he have been so careless? Granted that today’s battle had gone on for much longer than usual, and that he had barely avoided being late, but he should have been more careful. The more people that knew about his secret, the more likely he would fail. He mentally shook himself, trying to dispel the feeling of lightheadedness. He would have to say something quick to Sniper and go get some rest. Spy knew that he should go see Medic, but the man would have finished his battle paperwork by now and would probably throw a fit if Spy showed up injured. Spy wished to avoid a more extensive search than was necessary.

Spy tried to take a deep breath. “I made a promise... and I... keep my promises.” He stumbled, trying to reach out to a barrel for support. He blinked, and he was on the ground, Sniper shaking him. He tried to say something, but he was having trouble breathing. He started to panic, and attempted to sit up.

Spy blinked again and his arm was slung over Sniper’s shoulder, and he was being dragged towards base. Sniper shifted his grip and touched Spy’s side, causing him to hiss. He heard Sniper start to say something, and when he opened his eyes again they were suddenly at the door, the corrugated metal panel slowly lifting. A second later, he opened his eyes and they were passing the showers, halfway across base. Then, they were in a corridor and Sniper was yelling for Medic. He blinked again, and the bright lights of the operating table lanced into his brain. He heard Sniper talking to Medic, and felt Medic opening his shirt, gloves cold against his skin. Spy tried to raise his head, gasping for air. Then, Medic’s fingers touched his injured side and he cried out in pain. He felt something click, and new pain radiated outwards that make his previous discomfort seem like a pinprick in comparison. The lights faded from view as Medic held him down, and he slipped gratefully into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, you saw what you thought you saw in the battle. ;) Sappers are not aerodynamic, but for that battle it seemed to work. It might have helped that the Engineer wasn't around. No matter how splendid the character may be off of the battlefield, anyone can get really scary in the heat of battle.
> 
> Ultimate really is a sport. It's fun to play, and even those with the hand-eye coordination of a disabled banana can become proficient at playing, with practice. Here are the simplest rules I could find, and the ones I learned how to play off of: http://www.usaultimate.org/resources/officiating/rules/default.aspx#10simplerules


	6. Bound by a Promise

When Spy opened his eyes, he was greeted with the dim silence of Medic’s operating room. The only lights were from the hallway and Medic’s side office, and the only sound was the fluttering and cooing of Medic’s doves. He cautiously took a breath, and was relieved to feel no pain or tightness. Spy looked around, and saw that he was on a gurney pressed up against the wall with a blanket spread over him. It had dancing duckies with umbrellas on it. He wondered if anyone besides Pyro had heard that he was in the medbay. He shifted and carefully started to probe him chest for signs of injury. He felt no pain, and as he started to push the blanket off he heard the approaching boots of Medic.

“No, do not get up yet. Due to ze prolonged aggravation of your injuries, zhe medigun effects vill have left you a little unsteady. Vait a few moments to adjust." Medic pulled up a chair and sat on it, scowling.  “Now, vould you be so kind as to tell me vhy you did not show up for treatment after zhe battle? Herr Sniper told me vhere you vere, but you cannot simply valk off cracked ribs, only made vorse by moving around like zhat. Vhat vere you thinking?”

“I didn’t want to be late for practice,” Spy said quietly.

Medic’s eyebrows rose. “And vhy do you have such devotion to zhis group of boys? You vere lucky zhat Herr Sniper vas able to bring you to me vhen he did. Zhe shards of your ribs had just fractured into your lung, and I vas able to repair zhe damage quickly.” He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t do zhat again.”

Spy looked directly at Medic. “The woman that was shot in zhe store asked me to take care of her son. I had to do it.”

“And you chose to do zhat by becoming his sports coach? Herr Spy, have you ever considered zhat perhaps a mercenary may not be zhe first choice for child care?”

Spy chuckled. “I recognize that I am not zhe best choice, but a promise is a promise. If I had not intervened she may have not been shot, but I did and now I must do my best to help her.”

Vell, do come see me before you leave for zhese events,” Medic sighed. “I don’t care if you are late for zhem, if you don’t zhen I vill ask Heavy to help me collect you.”

“Does everyone know?” Spy asked.

“If zhey don’t, I vould be surprised.”

Spy sighed, a great weight slipping from his shoulders. They knew now, and he couldn’t hide it any longer. But, this gave him more freedom. If instead of keeping them from knowing he could keep them away from Danny, he could still keep Danny safe. The stakes were raised, but he could still play the game.

Spy swung his legs over the side of the gurney, tapping his shoes against the floor. “Well, I suppose that it could be worse.” He stood up slowly and took a deep breath, relieved. “We would both be better for some rest. Thank you, doctor, I will see you at zhe battle.”

Medic smiled dryly. “Remember vhat I told you.”

Spy nodded as he left, immediately stepping into the nearest shadow to avoid being seen by any of his teammates. As he ducked and dodged his way to his room he reflected with humor on the irony of sneaking around his own base. It wasn’t often that he did this, but the challenge was nothing compared to an enemy base listening for his footsteps. He slipped into his room quietly and smiled in the darkness as he heard Scout and Demo talking about him in the hall. Tomorrow he would set them all straight.

\-------------------------------

The battle was due to begin in fifteen minutes by the time Spy waltzed into the locker room, lazily smoking a cigarette. Everyone else turned to stare with mixed expressions of incredulity or curiosity as he went to his locker and prepared for the battle.

“You are late, Private!” Soldier bellowed.

Spy checked the ammo in his gun. “Hardly, Soldier. Zhe battle has not begun yet, non?” He replied without turning around.

“I will have you lashed for insubordination, Private!” Soldier barked. “You have been MIA since after the battle, and reports tell me that you have been fraternizing with civilians. Explain yourself!”

“I have made a promise bound by honor to protect a young boy, and zhat is all,” Spy said.

Engineer tipped his helmet. “That didn’ sound like tha whole story, pardner. Whut’s this about coaching a whole team’a youngsters?”

“What better way to keep an eye on him than to coach his team?” Spy said. “It was simply convenient. It will only be for zhe rest of the time we are in zhe area.”

Scout chuckled. “Since when did’ya become an expert on kids, Frenchie? If ya wanted t’ do it right, ya shoulda asked me from the staht. I’m the best wit kids, and I’ll help ya out because that’s the kinda guy I-” he yelped as Spy’s balisong thudded into the wood next to his ear. “Woah, woah, that was so uncalled for!”

“Zhe first one to go near zhat boy is going to have every shadow turned against zhem,” Spy said curtly as he collected his knife. That goes especially for you, Scout.”

“Jeeze man, I’m just tryin’ ta help,” he said defensively.

“I assure you zhat I have zhe situation under control.” _Hopefully._ “You are all to stay away from zhe boy or face my wrath, understood?”

Pyro looked dejected. “Hudda mur hur.”

Demoman waved his bottle, definitely not his first of the day. “Ah still dunnae how ye got the Administrator tah go along wi’ this.”

“It is simply anozher game for her, and she is watching to see if I will fail. I hope that you’ll understand zhat I don’t want to fail,” Spy said.

The others nodded amongst themselves. The Administrator was coldhearted, but she did love her games. Sometimes, she wasn’t too careful with some of the pieces.

Sniper sheathed his kukri. “Oi’ll be keepin’ my distance, mate, but Oi’ll be watchin’ all the same.”

“I can live with that. But any closer, and you will regret it.” Spy said, making a point of looking at Scout.

The intercom clicked on, and the familiar “Mission begins in sixty seconds” rang through the base. Everyone took their positions and waited for the countdown to begin. Spy lit another cigarette on Pyro’s pilot light and smiled faintly. Tonight would be another battle, and he was sure that if they didn’t win, the boys would at least fight to the end.

\------------------------------------

Smoke wafted through the air, and the faint clink of Miss Pauling placing a coffee cup down by the chair went seemingly unnoticed by the Administrator. She was silent as she stared at one screen which flickered and buzzed from poor reception, taking an occasional drag from her cigarette. Miss Pauling waited patiently in the dim monitor light, her hands clasped.

Finally, the Administrator harrumphed and leaned back in her chair, taking a sip of her coffee. “Fascinating, isn’t it, Miss Pauling?”

“Um, yes, Madam Administrator” Miss Pauling said meekly.

The Administrator narrowed her eyes at the screen. “He managed to pull off a victory with that bunch of sniveling whelps. Impressive,” she said haughtily.

“Spy has been working hard with them. With this victory, we should see RED start to regain some territory.”

“Yes, RED might become useful again,” the Administrator said. “It’s so inconvenient occasionally hobbling BLU to keep them from taking every objective. But, perhaps RED Spy has been working a little too hard with them. Yesterday he refused medical treatment after a battle in order to work with the boys, and only received healing after he was carried to their Medic. This may become a problem.”

“He shows a lot of dedication. It’s actually rather… alarming how invested he is in this.” She looked worriedly at the Administrator. “But if he can act this way around the children, we should be able to channel that to RED once the season ends.”

“Make sure that all the necessary preparations are made for their departure a week from Sunday. I want them to be ready to move as soon as possible after this final game is played next Friday.” The older woman took a drag on her cigarette. “I think that a campaign in Coldfront is long overdue. I’ll send them there for a few months; I want this finished.”

Miss Pauling’s mouth twitched in sympathy for the men. “Should I send a warning to Spy?”

“No, he knows the rules and the stakes of this little agreement. If he can’t keep up, then I expect you to be there.”

“Of course, Madame Administrator.” Miss Pauling replied, concerned for Spy. He had come really close to the line, and she hoped that he would be able to keep it together. She secretly wondered how much enjoyment the Administrator got out of seeing the men struggle, and scolded herself quickly for thinking that way about her employer. She could only wait and see if he could pull this off. Spy was running out of time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take this moment to post a conversation my lovely beta and I had about the extent of Spy's injuries. No plot armor was intentionally given. Let's break it down, y'all:
> 
> Penguinlove2506: (ALERT ALERT ALERT...I have a slight problem! I’m quite particular when it comes to details of an injury in a story, and although I may not be medically professional in any way, I do mah research! From what I’ve read, yes, someone with a fractured (and in this case, I’m thinking it would be fractured as in broken) rib shouldn’t just lay in bed all day. However, if it PUNCTURED HIS FREAKIN’ LUNG, Spah ain’t movin’ fer at least a few hours, even if he is on some pretty strong anesthetics. Staying on the gurney, or possibly having the others move him (not him moving himself) to his room would be possible, but Spy couldn’t have just broken a rib, and had it punctured his lung then just wake up and waltz off...Unless you’re thinking along the lines of “the medigun can heal everything, on battlefield or off.” I just don’t like that because...well…...it makes it seem like you’re giving plot armour :| I dunno. I’m just really picky, and when I give one of my characters an injury I try and research what that would do to them physically. For the moment, Spy shouldn’t feel anything (if we’re thinking along the lines of traditional remedies, not the Medigun) because of anesthetics. So that part is reasonable. I think the main thing is him just getting up, and walking out, and the Medic, who is a (not really) licensed doctor, just let’s him go. I do see that Medic didn’t want Spy moving for a bit, due to the Medigun’s effects, however, MEH. )
> 
> Idonian: (Medic doesn’t really believe in anesthetics, but his medigun on a low setting does stop bleeding and pain, allowing him to operate like he did on Heavy (in Meet the Medic). My mental picture of the injury is that the baseball bat cracked his ribs, but the pieces remained in place as long as he didn’t jostle them around. Cracked ribs can cause lightheadedness, which caused him to fall on the cracked spot and shatter the rib into fragments, some of which did puncture his lung. Medic simply turned the medigun on the lowest setting once he found where the break was (and caused Spy to pass out from the pain of the pieces grinding around), cut Spy open, and removed the shards from his lung. He probably used some type of industrial grade epoxy to glue his rib pieces back together so that they could grow back together, because that really can happen in real life. Either that or he left it to just grow back, as they do if shortened properly (it’s a treatment for scoliosis). Then he just uses the medigun to close the wound back up, because it can knit tissue together. One of the effects of the medigun is that it can heal up gibbed pieces (as seen in The Sound of Medicine) and the person can be fine enough to fight. I think that’s a little crazy, but the gun can heal bullet wounds at the very least. So while he did just have bones in his lung, they were removed and healed because the Medigun knits muscles and organs back together.  
> Spy was passed out for quite a while, and it would have been early in the morning (he heard Medic’s doves, and birds go to bed and get up early) when he finally woke up from dusk the night before. Most times when people are healed they are immediately fine for battle (as long as the shrapnel is removed later) even if they just got blown up. The reason that Spy had to wait this amount of time passed out is because of how long he waited to get treatment. He would still be a little unsteady, but because the tissue damage was repaired and his lungs intact again, he would be able to walk across base to his room. *waves hands* I dunno, physics.)
> 
> Another of my favorite stories involving the Medigun is The Bogdanov Effect, and it describes the power of the Medigun in a fairly believable way. https://archiveofourown.org/works/839666 
> 
> If anyone has questions, feel free to poke me. :)


	7. Regrets

Spy stepped onto the field and blew the whistle, smiling faintly as the kids sprinted through the grass made wet by an early afternoon thunderstorm. The air was thick and humid, and his mask clung to his skin with sweat. But despite the heat they were all in good spirits, and the kids were still excited from their recent victory. Not only did they win this week’s game, but last week’s as well, and the boys were playing much better for it. Sure, they were both barely victories and hard won, but they were victories nonetheless. There was one last game in the season, and Spy could feel the excitement in the air.

Spy smiled. “That was zhe fastest I have seen you run yet! You are faster than rabbits. Well done, boys!”

A couple of boys in the back laughed and pretended that they were rabbits, before being poked by another into paying attention again.

“Also, well done zhese past few games.” He held up a finger. “But, it is not over yet. We have one final game that we must win.”

Tyler held up his hand, and Spy pointed to him. “It’s Whitefield, Coach. They’re a private school, and we always lose against them.”

_Ah, yes,_ Spy thought. There were always schools out there like that, giving fancy scholarships to attract the brightest and the strongest. They left the dregs behind in the public schools, the ones they never bothered to see potential in, believing that they had already picked the cream of the crop. They held their noses high when they thrashed public school kids in every competition, because _of course_ they were the best. But from what he’d experienced, some of them had a hard time adapting to ingenuity.

“Then we will just have to beat them. They’ll never see it coming.” Spy grinned.

“They train extra hard to make sure that they beat us, Coach,” Harris said.

Spy shrugged. “Well, zhe fastest way of losing is giving up, so perhaps we can get a little creative?” He pulled out a small booklet. It held all of the rules of Ultimate, and from careful reading he had formulated a few ideas that might just work.

Spy dropped the booklet by the pile of frisbees. “They’ve beat you using traditional methods, non? Then we’ll have to think outside of zhe box.”

Spy picked up a frisbee and walked out a little into the field, beckoning the boys to follow. “One of zhe most important things is misdirection. Make your opponent think zhat you are doing one thing, and while he is trying to react, you are free to do somezhing else. Like zhis.” He hefted the frisbee and took a step forward to throw across the field. But as he leaned forward to whip it, he shifted rapidly and turned ninety degrees, sending it towards the boys. Mark leapt up and caught it as it sailed past.

“Good! Expect zhe unexpected,” Spy said. “Remember your partner from last week? I want you to practice zhis. Try to catch your partner off guard, but throw it somewhere near him. Ready? Go!” He blew a whistle.

The boys scrambled into pairs, each grabbing a frisbee and running off for their own little corner on the field. As he expected during the first few minutes it was absolute chaos. Kids kept running after wayward frisbee, crossing paths, and it reminded him of the very first practice he led a few weeks ago. But, instead of blowing on the whistle, he waited to see what would happen. And after a few minutes, one of the kids got it. He could see Sean clumsily, but effectively juking and throwing, and Ed diving to catch it. Slowly the technique radiated out from the pair, and they almost seemed to gain a telepathic understanding between teammates as time passed. Then, something happened, and a boy from one pair caught the frisbee of another pair and whipped his own frisbee back to them. They kept doing this, and soon the other boys caught on and started doing it too. Frisbees soared through the air across groups, but unlike the first day, they were being caught and thrown in a complex dance. Pleased, Spy blew the whistle. The boys gathered their frisbees and ran back to him.

“Well done! I think that you are ready to learn somezhing special now.” Spy leaned in, as if imparting something top secret. It really wasn’t, but while what he was about to teach them was perfectly within the rules, it wasn’t really seen in their age group. “Can you keep a secret?”

The boys laughed and cheered, and he put out his hands, shushing them in mock severity. They cheered quieter, and leaned in to listen.

“Zhe most important part of this is that you cannot touch your opponents at all. You already know zhis as part of zhe rules, but it is especially important when doing zhe move that I will show you,” Spy said.

Kenny raised his hand, and Spy called on him. “Is this in the rules, Coach?”

Spy winked, lightning fast. “Yes, but they only teach it when you get older. That is why it’s so important zhat you remember to never touch your opponent.”

The kids looked at each other, grinning. This was what the big kids did!

“I’ll need two volunteers. You, and you,” he said, picking on Andy and Tommy from the group. “I want you, Andy, to pass a frisbee over to Tommy from ten feet away.”

Andy looked disappointed. “That’s it? That’s nothing new!”

Spy raised his eyebrows. “You’ll see.”

Andy looked at him skeptically, but tossed the frisbee towards Tommy. As it passed Spy, he darted forward, lightning quick, and slapped the disk out of the air. It clattered to the dust as the boys looked on in disbelief. They had never seen anyone move that fast.

“Do you see now why you cannot hit your opponents? If you do, the foul would be in their favor. You can also try to catch zhe frisbee, but it is easier to defend by blocking zhe pass. Zhe thrower can only hold onto the disk for ten seconds, so zhis is useful,” Spy said.

“That’s it? Just hitting the frisbee? That’s lame.” Rick pouted.

Spy turned to the boy. “You would be surprised at how effective a good defense is, garçon.” Rick’s face flushed. “I’m going to put you in four groups of three, and zhe last two will be with me. We are going to play monkey in zhe middle with frisbees, and each of you will have a chance to be zhe monkey.” Some of the boys laughed. “That boy will try to intercept passes, and zhe others will try to pass around him.”

He started walking around, pairing boys together. He was amused by how the children tried to stick close to their friends on the team, even though they knew by now that he would separate people, forcing them to work together with people they didn’t associate with. When they grew up they wouldn’t be able to choose who they had to work with, and it was good to learn how to deal with that before they got there. He chose Tyler and Kenny to work with, and blew the whistle for the others to begin.

It was almost like meditation, the rhythm of watching the boys and participating with his own boys. Duck, catch, throw, pick up the frisbee, glance to the other boys, repeat. They knew how to play the game, and he saw that they started to really understand. A miss, a dodge, a triumphant yell from a boy, and time passed quickly as he blew the whistle to call a new boy to the middle. It began again, and while like in the last game of juking they weren’t perfect, they were finally starting to understand the game. He blew the whistle again, and this time he took place in the middle. The boys on either side looked at each other in disbelief, and he winked at Tommy.

He had to give the boy credit, Tommy didn’t back away. He took a deep breath, and spun to throw. At the last second he twisted another way, and juked to throw around Spy. Spy lunged and the frisbee barely skimmed his fingertips, landing in a stunned Kenny’s hands. Spy grinned at Tommy with pride, and turned to Kenny. Kenny blinked, smiled, and tossed it up high. It arced over Spy’s head, and he leapt up and snatched it out of the air, tossing it to Tommy. He nodded to Kenny, and the game began in earnest. They passed and caught until he was out of breath and the sun was starting to reach the tree line, and he finally blew the whistle to stop. The air felt thick and his suit clung to him, and as he called the boys in he heard a distant rumble of thunder.

Spy smiled. “Good! We will continue zhis when we meet again, and before zhe game. Zhe most important part of winning is believing zhat you can, and I believe that you will give zhe ozher team a headache!”

Dave raised his hand. “What if we win, Coach?”

Spy spread his hands to the boys. “Well, then we celebrate! Zhat is what a victory is for.” He sobered. “Whatever happens on Friday, I know zhat you will do your best. Now, go home. We are done for today.”

As the boys turned to leave, Spy paused and turned. “Danny? Would you stay for a moment?”

Danny stopped and ran back to Spy, where he was putting frisbees into the bag. “Yeah, Coach?”

“Is your mother being released from zhe ‘ospital today?”

Danny blinked. “A friend brought her home this morning. I made her cereal,” he said proudly, as if the act was worthy of a four course meal.

Thunder rumbled again, and Spy looked up as clouds marched across the horizon towards the defenseless sun sinking below the horizon. “Would you like a ride home, Danny?” he asked.

Danny looked back at his team. None of them were waiting to see if he was coming. “Um, yeah. Thanks!”

Spy packed up the rest of the equipment, and as they pulled onto the main road light raindrops started to patter against the windshield. He thought for a moment about the other boys walking home in the rain, and contented himself with knowing that none of them had to walk as far as Danny. They were not his responsibility.

“Will your mother be at zhe game, Danny?” Spy asked.

Danny looked up. “I dunno. I think that the doctor told her not to, but my mom’s friend says that she’ll bring her.”

“And you will not need any help?”

“I dunno,” Danny replied. “Mom says that she’ll be ok.”

“Well, if she changes her mind, do not hesitate to tell me.” He was surprised to find that he was slightly disappointed at this. He felt a twinge of shame at this, that he was caring about another woman besides his dearly beloved. But Miss Locklin was just a woman in need of help, help which he was able to provide for a short while, Spy told himself. Soon he would be moving on and she would become little more than a faint memory, unlike his fair lady.

“Are you gonna have to leave, like you told mom?”

Startled out of his thoughts, Spy glanced over at the boy, who had been staring out the window at the falling rain. He now looked to Spy with worry.

“Well, Danny, I have to travel a lot, so I will have to after zhe last game. Zhat doesn’t mean zhat I will never come back, though,” Spy replied.

Danny was quiet for a minute, fidgeting. “Will you say goodbye?”

Spy heard the unspoken rider on that question: _Will you abandon us like everyone else has?_ It pained him to see a ten year old think that way.

Spy smiled faintly for Danny’s benefit. “I will come see you before I leave, I promise.” he replied as they pulled up to Danny’s house.

Danny smiled a little back. “Ok. Thanks, Coach.” he said before he leapt out of the car into the deluge, slamming the door shut and sprinting to the front door.

Spy watched him go, frowning slightly. There was nothing more he could do, he told himself, lighting a cigarette. He had saved her life, and in a few days he would no longer be Danny’s coach. They don’t really need him anymore, they can take care of themselves.

His insidious thoughts added: _Nobody else will do it for them._

Spy came to an internal decision, and shifted his car into gear. He would do what he promised he would, and that was that. He couldn’t afford to get attached, no matter how hard it was to not care. That was something that came with the job and the pay, and to get any closer was to put them in danger, especially from the Administrator.

Yes, this was the right decision. But he realized, not the one he was secretly hoping for.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CYA: Private schools are not dens of iniquity, and I'm not saying that they are. :) But there are some out there that are a little more exclusive than others.


	8. We Believe

Spy inhaled as he stepped onto the grassy field, watching the lights slowly flicker into life. A faint breeze whispered through the trees, and a few fireflies were dancing at the edge of the forest. A few parents were starting to file onto the distant bleachers, towing kids and grandparents alike to see one of the events that passed for entertainment in the tiny town. The last junior ultimate game of the year? Not to be missed for anything, apparently. He knew that the REDs would be somewhere out there, watching the game. Was that a flicker of Sniper’s scope in the woods, illuminated by a ray of dying sunlight? Or was it just his imagination? As long as they kept their distance, he didn’t mind them. The Administrator would certainly have her cameras watching. The way to know that she was watching was to turn around quickly... and see nothing at all.

The other team was warming up on the opposite side of the field, kitted out in the very best of junior athletic wear. He smirked. Their passing was flawless. His boys had practiced a few hours ago, and they were just now taking the field to start stretching. Spy had been very firm about this. Rest a little, make them think that you were no match for them, and then when their guard was down go for the throat.

Not that it would be an easy fight. He had done his best, and all he could do now was hope that it was enough. This was more stressful than a battle against the BLUs, and he depended on a bunch of ten year olds for a victory, against the other team and the Administrator.

He really, really wanted a cigarette.

A man was approaching on him from the crowd, nose in the air and a self righteous scowl on his face. He wore a nicely cut blazer, and his pristine sneakers cut through the grass as he advanced on Spy.

Spy smirked as man was about to speak. “Well?”

The man paused, having lost the initiative. He rallied impressively, drawing himself up to full height and looking down on Spy. “You’re the coach, right? Well, my son Rick Souza is on the team and I won’t stand for the way you’ve been acting!”

Spy was unimpressed. “And what way would zhat be?”

Mr. Souza advanced, but Spy refused to back away. “Don’t give me any of that lip, you filthy foreigner. Now, around these parts people do what they’re told or they don’t have a job, you hear me? So when I say that you treat my son with the respect he’s due, you do it.”

Spy faced him sharply, and the man backed up a step. “It will be given when it is received. My apologies, monsieur, but zhere is nothing you can do zhat will hurt me, and oh so many things zhat I can do, or say. Does anything involving one of your ‘ousemaids ring a bell? I’m sure you tried quite hard to cover zhat up. I wonder what Miss Jones of The Journal would make of zhat?

The man reddened. “Nothing happened!” he spat.

Spy raised his eyebrows. “Mm, and I’m sure zhat you want to keep everyone thinking zhat way, too. I ‘ope we understand each ozher now. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be with my team.” With that he turned and walked away, smiling inwardly at the angry spluttering behind him.

\------------------------------

It was ten minutes before game time. Spy smiled at his team, trying to appear suave and confident and not at all as nervous as he felt.

“This is it, boys,” Spy said. “We’ve come this far, and now we’ve got to go zhe whole way.” He paused. “I want you to know zhat I’m… proud of you all. You have done well, you should be proud of yourselves too. I want you to give your very best, show them all what fast rabbits you can be!” The boys laughed. “No matter what happens out there, remember that.”

The PA system crackled to life. “Good evenin’, folks, and welcome to the last game of the season, between the Whitefield Eagles and our very own Falcons. Concessions are by the fence, and bathrooms are by the parking lots, on left.”

Spy smiled. It was time to go.

\------------------------------

Sniper leaned back against a tree, brushing away a firefly. It was almost peaceful, with the soft chirps of the sparrow Heavy was releasing and the sounds of the crowd faint in the distance.

“Yo Solly, lemme see those binoculars!” Scout called.

“Negatory, private! As the commanding officer I must have a clear view of the battlefield!”

“C’mon man, just for a sec?” he wheedled.

Sniper sighed at the sounds of the two fighting. He looked over at Pyro, who was making daisy chains, and it shrugged at him. Almost peaceful.

“If little man does not find something else to do, Heavy will find it for him,” the larger man rumbled.

“Geez, man, I’m jus’ trying to see what’s going on out there. Hey, did somebody score again?”

Sniper peered through his scope at the field. Yes, the other team scored again, and the kids in green were furiously passing the frisbee back to their side. The scores were almost even, and this late in the game it was still a toss-up who would win.

“Vhat is zhe score, Herr Sniper?” Medic asked.

“18-19,” he replied. “Bloody ‘ell, I think Spy might make it.”

The Engineer leaned forward. “Well, he’d better do it in the next six minutes then.”

A faint whistle blew, and Sniper focused on the referee. He was talking to Spy, who then turned and said something to one of the boys in green, who walked off the field and was replaced by another. Play resumed, and the boys in white took control. They were faster, and better coordinated as they regained control of the frisbee, but then a small green blur dashed in between a pass and knocked it to the ground. The whistle blew, and the greens started to regain ground. Whites began to circle a green, and his fellow teammates surrounded the whites. Sniper smirked, it was almost like a target. The green in center made to throw to his left and shifted to his right, where a teammate caught it and passed it like lightning to a green waiting in the end zone.

The whistle blew. The scoreboard changed, 19-19. A few of the whites exchanged on the field, and the game went on. The whites had possession and were making full use of it to drive the frisbee towards their goal. Seconds passed slow and agonizingly as the greens scrambled to keep up. And then, just as the frisbee was sailing lazily to the end zone, inches away, one of the greens leapt up and swatted it out of the air, fumbling and barely catching it before hitting the ground.

Was that the kid that Spy was talking to a week ago before he collapsed at base? Yes, it was. Seconds counted down as the kid stared at the sea of white players surrounding him, and just before he would forfeit the disc he flung it high out of the crowd. A teammate on the edge of the throng caught it, and the frisbee started to make its journey back across the field.

The seconds started to count down. 40 seconds, and it was barely halfway across the field. The whites were catching up. He saw the kid from the end zone sprint and catch it as it sailed past, and throw it almost ninety degrees the other way to another boy, who hurled it closer.

7 seconds left. A last ditch throw sailed across the field, skimming lower and lower. Sniper held his breath as a green dove for it, almost in slow motion. 4… 3… 2… and he skidded into the touch down zone, rolled, and came up holding the frisbee.

The crowd roared. Sniper let out the his breath and joined in as the men yelled. Demo toasted with Engie and Scout punched the air, yelling “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” The scoreboard read 19-20, and the kids lined up to high five the other team.

“So, what now?” Demoman asked.

“We reconvene at base and celebrate a battle well won when Spy returns in glory!” Soldier crowed.

“Zhen ve should get moving,” Medic said. “Come along, everyvun.”

Sniper looked back at the field for a moment, before following the rest of the team. Spy looked… so happy. Not in the hardest won victories had he looked so triumphant, so jubilant.

 _Good on yer, mate. You earned it_ , he thought, shouldering his rifle and walking away from the glittering tableau, wondering if it was a victory that would come with a cost. The Administrator never let any of her pieces get too far up the board.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help but borrow a phrase that I loved dearly, and here are the credits: "The way you'd know that Vetinari was keeping an eye on you would be by turning around very quickly and seeing no one at all," (Terry Pratchett, Going Postal, 112). It's more of a paraphrase or a line along a similar idea, but I wouldn't want to disrespect the wondrous Sir Pratchett in any way, may he rest in peace.
> 
> The chapter title comes from a song of the same name, by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I thought it fit. :)


	9. Pawn Demotion

“To a good game!”

There was a cheer and everyone took a drink. Spy smiled and leaned against the counter. His team insisted on celebrating, and while he often avoided his coworkers he allowed himself to be coerced into joining them for a few drinks. After all, there was no battle scheduled tomorrow, so he could relax for a moment.

Scout was spinning a frisbee around, and Pyro was running around pretending to be playing a game, hooting excitedly.

Spy took another sip, musing. He had done it. He had watched over Danny, and led the team to success. Danny’s mother would be able to heal, and soon they would be able to look out for each other. The REDs were experiencing a winning streak unseen in months as well. The Administrator surely couldn’t complain about that, since he worked just as hard for the company as he had for the team. Soon he would say goodbye to Danny, and a part of him regretted it. He would miss the boy, but saying goodbye was a part of his life that would never change.

The PA clicked on, and the Administrator’s cold voice echoed through the base. “Congratulations, mercenaries. Due to your advances in the field, you are being relocated to Coldfront. The trains are leaving at dawn, and the vehicles are being loaded. Failure to be present at the time of departure will result in _permanent_ termination.”

The room exploded in an uproar of dismay. Engineer ran off to pack up his turrets, and Scout flopped backwards. Sniper slipped away, taking his beer with him. Pyro hooted in delight of the prospect of pretty snowflakes and an excuse to play with the fire the other men would huddle around. Spy stared straight ahead in disbelief, his bottle slipping from his fingers to the floor, where in total disregard of the rules of the universe, it failed to smash and simply clattered, spilling its contents.

Spy shook himself at the sound. _Of course._ How could he even _think_ that he would get away scot free? How could he ever expect the Administrator to _share?_ He looked at the clock. 12:41. Could he make it in time? Probably. He had to.

He took off in the direction of the vehicle yard, cursing his lungs and silently berating himself. He had relaxed before the game was over, and now he would pay for it, among other things. The train hissed on its rails outside and sent up billows of steam into the cool night air. Spy looked around for his car desperately. Where was it? He saw a glint of color in the corner of his eye, and and upon further inspection that it was already chained to the bed of one of the rail cars. He could pick the locks, but that would take far too much time.

The Administrator was not playing fair.

“Oy! Spook!”

Spy turned around to see Sniper standing next to his camper van, which hadn’t been loaded yet.

“I have to say goodbye, I promised!” Spy called out.

Sniper stared at him for a moment, nodded, and tossed something which Spy caught out of reflex. It was the keys to Sniper’s van, he realized in surprise.

“Don’t scratch ‘er, mate. Now, git goin’!” Sniper said.

Spy shouted thanks and jumped into the car, starting the engine up with a recalcitrant cough. He sped out of the yard and onto the road, accelerating as he hit pavement. He had to get there in time. He had to.

\-----------------------------------------------

A streetlight flickered, illuminating a depressingly small patch of weed-filled, cracked pavement. There was a faint rumble in the distance, which faded into silence. Crickets chirped softly in the grass while moths batted themselves against the light, which buzzed and died for a solid minute before sputtering back into life.

A shadow passed by the penumbra, footsteps soft and light. It paused and looked to the house, barely visible in what light the lamp and the stars gave. The specter moved, vanishing into the mist. Faint sounds could be heard in the darkness. A creaking of a railing, the whisper of leaves on a moved tree branch, the faint tapping of shoes on a porch roof, the gentle sliding of a window screen on the second floor. The clouds shifted, allowing the moon to briefly illuminate the open window.

Spy gently shook Danny awake, and leaned back into the window’s light so as to not startle the child. The young boy sat up, rubbing his eyes in confusion, and still groggy from coming out of sleep. He recognized the figure of the man standing in the pale moonlight.

“Coach?” he asked, blinking and rubbing his eyes.

Spy sat down on the bed. “I’m sorry Danny, I don’t have much time. The train is leaving at dawn.”

Danny’s eyes widened, and a frown creased his face. “What do you mean?” Spy could hear the hurt tone in the boy’s voice, and his heart gave a little cinch.

“I made a promise to say goodbye, but I can’t stay any longer. I’m sorry.”

The meaning of this sank into the boy, who gaped at him for a moment. “You mean that you’re leaving? You can’t leave now!” he began to cry.

Spy put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and Danny wrapped his arms around him, crying into the older man’s suit.

“Listen, Danny. Listen to me.” Spy gently shook the boy. “Sometimes people have to leave even when they don’t want to. It does not mean that they hate you, sometimes they just ‘ave no choice.”

Danny looked up with tear filled eyes, “Can you take me with you then?”

Spy frowned, hoped that Danny’s mother was soundly sleeping on pain medication. “And leave your mother all alone? I can’t do that.”

Danny sniffled. “Danny, your mother needs you. Be there for her, help her when I can’t.”

“When are you coming back?” Danny asked

Spy sighed “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I wish that I did. Don’t cry Danny, here.” He handed the boy a handkerchief.

Spy stood up, then knelt by the bed, putting his hands on Danny’s shoulders and looking him square in the eye as the boy wiped at his tears. “Zhe difference between wanting to leave and not is saying goodbye. I wish zhat I didn’t have to go, but I do. Be strong. I am proud of you.”

He stood up and Danny jumped off of the bed, hugging Spy. “Goodbye, Coach.” he whispered.

Spy put a hand on Danny’s head. “Goodbye, Danny,” he said before stepping away and walking to the window. In a minute he was gone. Danny watched him go, clutching the handkerchief in one hand and sniffling quietly.

He then walked to the window and looked out. The streetlight glimmered and flickered arrhythmically, off, then on. There was a cough and a rumble somewhere in the distance, which soon dwindled away. As the sound gave way to silence, the light buzzed, popped, and finally died. Darkness remained.

\-------------------------------------

Miss Pauling shifted in the silence of the room, waiting patiently for the Administrator to speak. The older woman watched the cameras with a sour expression, scowling at one in particular.

“Hmph. He made it back.”

Miss Pauling steeled herself. “He fulfilled his promise,” she said, willing her voice to remain steady.

The Administrator lit another cigarette. “He did. Tell me, Miss Pauling, why had you  not yet loaded Sniper’s van onto the train?”

“Because apparently, somebody thought it would be funny to tie body parts to the underside of the train, which I had to dispose of. I was unable to identify the bodies, since the fingerprints and faces were removed. I believe it was a prank,” she replied calmly, with no trace of fear evident in her voice.

“Well, we’ll see how much they feel like pulling pranks when they reach Coldfront,” the older woman snapped. “You are dismissed, Miss Pauling.”

Miss Pauling left gratefully, waiting until she had left the building, driven home, and locked the door of her apartment before breathing out a sigh of relief. Later, she knew, she would have to replenish her supply of emergency bodies.

\-----------------------------------

The rumble and clattering of the rails was soothing out in the cargo hold where Spy sat, watching the sun rise through an open door in one of the metal boxes. The light slowly crept between the crates to where he leaned against a box, smoking a cigarette. Everyone else was giving him a wide berth, even Scout after Sniper had explained to him in graphic detail what would happen to the speedster if he bothered the spook.

It was growing chilly already, but Spy didn’t feel it. That would come later. For now, all that mattered was the light on the horizon, the train beneath him, and the fact that he succeeded.

Nobody saw it but the sun, who wouldn’t be talking, but it’s quite possible that he smiled all the way to Coldfront.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever read The Morbid, Macabre, and Myriad Adventures of Miss Edith Amelia Pauling? If you haven't, they're quite lovely. https://archiveofourown.org/series/170291
> 
> The Administrator is supposed to be nasty. She's a control freak and possessive, and Spy's act of kindness was a threat to her. The fact that she allowed it at all was a great display of mercy, for her. Spy's victory is that no matter what challenges were presented to him (avoiding disclosing any hints his identity, being present for the entirety of battles, and proving that his errand was worthwhile and useful to RED), he was able to fulfill the requirements of both roles to excellence. This in itself is a threat to the Administrator, that he can defy her expectations and do things outside of work, becoming that much more insulting because it improved his performance on the job. Hence the campaign in Coldfront. But when you've managed to get away with that much scot free, even an act of spite such as that doesn't mean much. She is cold hearted. (See what I did there? :D Heheh. Nevermind.)


	10. Epilogue

An envelope arrived one month later to a house in the outskirts of town, where a boy took it out of the mailbox and ran all the way into the house and up to his bedroom. There was a postcard inside with no picture on the back and no return address.

_Greetings, Danny,_

_I couldn’t help but notice a news article stating that a young man defended a young lady against somebody outside of your school who attempted to harm her, and refused to back down in the face of the assailant. Well done. You will be interested to note that after he fled your town, he was, unfortunately, killed in an accident when his gun misfired on him._

_I am glad that your mother is doing well. Should the need ever arise, there is an account placed under her name in the bank next to the hospital where she stayed. The key is under my name, ask your mother if you’ve forgotten. Use it only in an emergency._

_I wish I could tell you where I’ve been, or what I’ve been doing. Sadly, that is impossible. I’m sure that whatever you imagine will be at least partially true._

_Fondest regards,_

_Coach_

 

Danny read the note again, and then reached under and pulled out a box from under his bed. He placed the postcard inside, next to a handkerchief and a small carved bird, then closed the box and sat down on his bed, hugging it.

In an infinite amount of places and ways, we have the power to reach out and give a hand to a stranger in need. We are all fighting battles that are seldom seen. In some cases, it may just brighten someone’s day. In others it may save a life. But in rarely, and in the case of a man with a mean smoking habit, it may lead to one little victory.

 

  
_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, to everyone who helped me along the way, especially penguinlove2506. This story really wouldn't have happened without her.
> 
> To everyone who thinks that their writing isn't good enough, give it a shot. Keep at it, keep practicing, and you never know where it might go. Even the best writers can feel doubt, and you may be better than you realize.
> 
> Tell the people around you that you care about them. You never know when they'll be gone. Then go further and be kind to strangers. People behind store counters, someone walking down the street, someone who looks like they really need a friendly face, or even a simple smile. They all have doubts and joys and struggles, just like you, and we're all fighting a battle that few see. It's important to know that we're not fighting it alone.
> 
> Thank you. Comments are appreciated.


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